And so on.

I know your ways. You can turn your ass around right now and go back wherever the hell you came from. I don't want to see you or any of your friends around here ever again. Let's get this straight. I don't like you. I don't like the way you look or the things you say or your parents or your grandparents. I think you're all worthless sons of bitches and every decent person here would be a lot better off without your kind fouling things up for the rest of us and ruining things for the more deserving. I want you out. You are not wanted here or anywhere. When I look at you I cannot help but think violent thoughts. Often, I have the urge to bludgeon you within an inch of your life and leave you bleeding and broken on the ground, preferably in an isolated place where you are exceptionally unlikely to receive any kind of aid. You're an unwelcome interloper and every moment you spend near me is another moment of my life that I cannot get back and that I damn with every fiber of my being. You nauseate me with your presence. I hate your fucking guts and I wish you dead. Besides, you're ugly and you have an unpleasant odor.


You, however, I like. You're welcome to anything at any time and I am glad to give it. You're pleasant and agreeable and you live a good, clean life. You and yours are the most welcome people in the world in these parts, whenever you should choose to visit, I'm more than glad to let you have my bed, my bread, and even my cheese. You have good thoughts, good character, and good taste. You never let things go unsaid unless they're better left unspoken and you're alwyas willing to lend a hand unless you're asked to keep you hands off. I only wish you the best. When you're helpful, you're rarely consdescending and when you're rude, it's well-deserved or exceptionally humorous. You're attractive to look at. Maybe not in any kind of conventional way, but you're at the very least somewhat appealing. You have a pleasing scent. Your voice is oddly comforting and I always look forward to seeing you. Sometimes you have a bad day, but I am always willing to overlook those occasions. You're worth it. You're definitely interesting and incredibly generous. Everytime I think about you, I am filled with feelings of good will. When someone is unkind to you, I want to redress that wrong. I think you're utterly charming. I adore you

An Excerpt: Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson

"All the men and women the writer had ever known had become grotesques. The grotesques were not all horrible. Some were amusing, some almost beautiful, and one, a woman all drawn out of shape, hurt the old man by her grotesqueness...For an hour the procession of grotesques passed before the eyes of the old man, and then, although it was a painful thing to do, he crept out of bed and began to write...It was the truths that made the people grotesques. The old man had quite an elaborate theory concerning the matter. It was his notion that the moment one of the people took one of the truths to himself, called it his truth, and tried to live his life by it, he became a grotesque because the truth he embraced became a falsehood."
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